Moving Forward
by Skeleton - Est.1991
Summary: Sterek. The thing about Stiles was that he talked a lot, but he was also a really good listener.
1. Chapter 1

_This was originally a one shot that got away from me. It ended up flowing better if I broke it up. I am currently working on the third chapter. This is a work of fiction, obviously. This is my view of things that occurred after Peter's tale in Visionary._

* * *

"Okay, so is two days standard then or are we thinking Derek's on some extended getaway?"

_"Why do you care?"_

* * *

_Why did he care?_ He gulped. He couldn't openly tell Cora why he was so interested in the whereabouts of her brother. So he spouted off some bullshit about Motel Glen Capri, his friend and sheriff father saving Deaton from a sacrifice, the towns crazy other sacrifices, and the alpha pack making Derek kill Boyd... Okay, so it wasn't really bullshit. It was a plethora of messed up events that he found himself in the middle of. She didn't call out his lie. Why would she? All of those were true and a reason why he cared, but that wasn't why he wanted to know about Derek.

He didn't get an answer from her. To be honest, he was a little suspicious of her distress for her brother and how he used to be.

_How he used to be._ Stiles couldn't even imagine. How Derek used to be wasn't even a concern right now. He heard stories about the Hales for years, stories about Derek even, but they were just that. Stories. It didn't mean they held truth.

Then Peter emerged from whatever depths of hell he crawled out of. He almost fondly said that Derek used to be like Scott. Scott his best friend? Yeah, he couldn't believe it. For one, Scott was a big dork. Derek was -

Peter continued to say that a girl changed him. _**A girl**._

Stiles stomach dropped, not that he wanted to admit it.

With everything that's been going on - Heather's death, Lydia being, well, whatever it was Lydia was being - Stiles was a little thrown off of girls. He used to be scared and intimidated by them. That was before werewolves were real. Now he was absolutely terrified. He had actual reasons now. That in itself was fucked up.

Regardless, he sat through Peter's tale of his nephew's past. He asked questions. Not because he took an interest in the alpha's past - Stiles hated looking back - he was more concerned with Peter's version of things and what it could potentially mean for the rest of them. The way his eyes turned blue at the end of the twisted anecdote sent a chill through his body.

It was after Peter's stupid, slightly interesting story, that he got his answer. Peter disappeared and Cora told him where he might be able to find Derek. As much as he hated to admit it, he trusted Cora more than Peter. Still, the Hales were a creepy bunch.

Derek was at the abandoned subway station. Stiles should have looked there sooner. Lately the place seemed more abandoned considering everything. The pack had been more centered at the loft or the hospital...

The older man was sitting in the furtherst seat of the car lit the least. His head was resting on the seat before him. Gaze drawn to the floor. His hands were intertwined. He was trying to keep everything together. His plate was full. The weight of the world was on his tense shoulders. He was struggling.

Stiles didn't make his presence known. He didn't have to. Derek could hear him coming. Derek could **_smell_** him coming closer. He could feel the heat of the man at his side. He could sense his caution and concern.

It all resulted to this. This is what Derek's life was. He lifted his head to stare at the younger boy. He lacked his intimidation, the blankness. He looked pathetic and breakable.

The thing about Stiles was he talked a lot. He rambled on and on and went off on these tangents that only made sense to him. So, yeah, he talked a lot, but what people didn't know, not even Scott, was how great of a listener he was. Only two people were aware of the ears on Stiles Stilinski: his dad and Derek Hale.

It started the night in the pool when Kanima Jackson was preying on them. He kept him afloat for a couple hours. Derek had asked him why he didn't let him drown; he was a monster too. Stiles told him he didn't like it when people died.

Stiles fought back the urge to rest a comforting hand on his knee.

"It's not your fault, Derek."

"It is."

"No," he retorted firmly. "It's not."

"I had to turn him. I made him what he is. What he was," he corrected. "If he was a normal teenage boy, the loaner in the back of the cafeteria, he would still be alive. Erica wouldn't be dead! They wouldn't have run off and got captured. I should have found a way to save them all. Betas or family? My pack is my family, Stiles! I hurt people. That's what I'm here for. I'm going to get everyone killed. I can't lead them. And Scott..."

"What about Scott?" He didn't know if he was being defensive or curious.

"He's a better leader than I am."

"We've talked about this. Extensively."

"I'm responsible for them," he stated.

Stiles finally put a hand on Derek's knee. He squeezed it once and released his hold. "They knew what they were getting into. You made sure of that. They knew the dangers. Not that I like the idea very much, but they did know. You've been trying to train them. They've been there like good little betas. Scott didn't have that."

"You refused to let that happen."

Stiles shrugged, a small pleased smile on his face. "Scott has free will. Unless Allison literally has him by the balls."

Derek gave him the stare that lets you know he's had enough of your shit. Stiles retorted with his own mocking one, getting Derek to crack a smile.

"I hate you, Stiles.

The boy stood and smacked a hand on his back. "I know you do, buddy." When he went to leave Derek gripped his wrist a little too tight.

"Stay."

He should have made a comment about an owner's demands with it's pet dog. He should have told him how painful his wrist was becoming. Were those claws? He looked from his wrist to Derek's pleading eyes, to his wrist, to the floor. He stuttered out a noise that might have been words if any part of him was working correctly. He took his spot beside him. His arm was released and he brought it to his chest for protection.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles just shook his head, trying to stay calm.

"Can I see it?"

"N-no, it's fine."

"Stiles! Let me see."

Derek carefully pulled it away from him to check out the puncture wounds. Stiles was getting his first chance to examine it himself. He winced. Seeing it made it hurt more.

The wounds looked like the ones on Jackson's neck. They weren't as deep, but he was bleeding a little. Derek could taste the hints of blood as if he lapped it up.

"I told you. I hurt people."

Stiles was about to remind him, again, that it wasn't his fault, but it kind of was. If he had better control he wouldn't have unleashed his claws for a walk in the park that was Stiles' skin. He kept his mouth shut and felt guilty instead.

Derek didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on his wrist. His thumb slid across the skin. A bit of blood smeared along the trail. It was almost poetic. He actually had Stiles' blood on his hands. Stiles watched the thumb caressing his wrist. The pain subsided. The wounds faded. He couldn't believe it. In a world where werewolves were freaking real, he couldn't believe that his cuts were healed. Why would they need to be healed? They were minor at best. He couldn't fathom Derek healing him. Why would he want to?

"You can make people better."

They sat in silence until Stiles' dad called, wondering where his teenage son was. He told him he was heading home. He stood and walked a couple steps down the aisle. He spun on his heel to say goodbye like the awkward child that he was to find that Derek was already gone. Disappeared. Again.

Stiles sighed and left, wondering if he was close enough to hear, smell, and feel him go. A chill ran down his spine.


	2. Chapter 2

_I need to busy myself while I wait impatiently for tonight's episode and avoid tumblr. I thought I'd post this to soothe my withdrawals. I broke up this "one-shot" even more. It was supposed to be longer, but I liked where I cut it off._

_This is a reminder that this takes place after Visionary._

* * *

His father was doing a terrible job waiting for him. He had case files in his lap and his eyes rolled back in his head. It scared the hell out of Stiles at first. All he could feel was panic and impending loss. Because hello! The town was full of crazy supernatural beings. Monsters were trying to kill his friends! To top it off, his dad was a cop. There were many people who wanted him -

Nonetheless, John Stilinski was only asleep. He was awakened just to be sure.

John attempted to focus his sleepy gaze. "Stiles? You're home."

"Yeah, Dad, I'm home. Wouldn't you be more comfortable in your bed?"

"I'd already be there if you were home at a decent time." _There goes the parent card._

He rolled his eyes in typical teenage fashion.

He helped his dad pack up the cases and place them in a neat pile on the table. His brain tried to convince him to bring them to his room, go over them for more details. There had to be _**something**_ they were missing. Quite frankly, he was too tired to deal with the supernatural tonight. He wanted a break. For one night he wanted to fuck off the research. Let the pack and whoever else worry about it. Stiles wanted _**sleep**_. Stiles _**needed**_ sleep.

After making sure his dad went to bed, he stumbled to his own room. The night had seemed longer somehow. Seven hours of school led to checking in with his dad, the loft. His entire evening was spent listening to Peter and Cora relishing in the past while wondering about present Derek. Present Derek was actually the future version when they met up at the train station. Or maybe Stiles needed to lay off of the science fiction (was it fiction at this point in the game)?

The fact of the matter was that his twin bed was calling his name. It was a Siren luring him to a week long coma - if he was lucky. Then again it was Stiles Stilinski. His luck ran out a long time ago.

He face-planted onto his bed. His shoes were still on. His school clothes intact. His head was heavy and his body was throbbing with restlessness and stress pains. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

He hummed to himself. It was the only thing that managed to get him to sleep on nights like this. It was a lullabye his mom used to sing to him. It wasn't a morbid one. It was gentle and happy just like his mom. It was relaxing. He could feel his body at ease, his mind following close behind.

He was just about to drift off when he heard a noise behind him. He didn't even have to look to see what happened. He mumbled a joke into his pillow.

"Didn't you get enough of me tonight?"

"More than enough," He could hear the sarcasm and see the bitch-face. He smiled and rolled onto his back.

"What are you doing here, Derek?"

"I didn't want to go home and face the questioning. I didn't want to crash on an uncomfortable seat."

"You managed in a burnt house just fine." He bit his lip, not sure how the joke would come across. He felt like an asshole for letting the words leave his lips.

"So I did," he said... almost humorously? Stiles sat up and stared at the werewolf in shock.

"Are you trying to be funny?"

Derek grinned. "And if I am?"

Stiled put a hand over his heart. "I'm proud. Our talks seem to be doing you some good. You're not completely sour anymore."

Derek scowled.

"You want to pull up a piece of floor then or...? I'm tired here, man. I haven't slept in years."

"You can leave it behind."

"Sleep? I think not! I've gone far too long without it."

"The pack. This life. You don't have to be involved. You can get away. _**Walk away**_ anytime you want."

_Oh. So it was one of those talks._

He blinked at him. "You're just trying to push me out, push me away."

"You're going to get hurt, Stiles!" His eyes flashed red, glowing in the bedroom's darkness.

He swung his legs off of the bed and stared on, perplexed. "Oh my god! You think you're going to hurt me."

"I hurt you tonight," Derek reminded.

Stiles stood before the older man now. Hands waving to execute his point. "You healed me! If you were going to hurt me you would have ages ago. I've been a little shit to you. I'm the human getting in the way! The snarky bastard that challenged you even when you scared me." He took a step closer. "For our sanity and the conclusion of this weeks _Tales From The Crypt_, we need to move forward. All we can do is move on. That doesn't mean forgetting, Derek. You know that. I know that."

That's why they had these moments. They understood the loss of a loved one. They knew to move on and not forget. With loss, with failure. They had to fight. Maybe that was more apparent for Derek. He needed to know that Stiles was the same way. He can't stand by idle. He doesn't want to be helpless. Not again.

It wasn't until his rant was over that he realized how close he was to the alpha. They were sharing the same hot air. Personal space was beyond invaded. He took a step back.

Derek grabbed at his once wounded wrist. He wanted Stiles close.

"Derek..."

He didn't meet his gaze. He was too busy eyeing the human's wrist. He could hear the steady heart speed up, feel it under his delicate touch. It wasn't racing from fear. He was nervous. His palms were pooling with it.

He brought the wrist up to his face. His nose brushed against the skin. He could smell the blood again. The same blood running under the thin layers of skin. His senses were assaulted, alive. He needed the reminder of Stiles being human, breakable. The reason he needed to protect the people around him. To guard Hale territory.

His eyes flashed to red and he released a growl.

Stiles flailed, slapping a hand against the werewolves mouth. Fuck the fangs! His dad was sleeping! He wasn't pushed away. He was held closer. Their bodies were awkwardly pressed against each other. The alpha's face softened, his hands warm and soft on his wrist and lower back.

Stiles was breathing against his chest. I swirl of fear and anxiety wafting from him. Derek slid his hand comfortingly along his back.

"Are you afraid of me?" He wasn't sure if he wanted an answer, but he was pleased with the one he received.

"I'm afraid my dad is going to hear you."

Derek moved his grip from his wrist to the pulse point on his neck. The soothing backrub stopped, the hand returned to his lower back.

He inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself down. He was suffocating. The proximity of their bodies, fragile human and durable werewolf, made him neurotic. "My dad is trying to sleep, you know? I'd rather you didn't get shot. Again! But, hey, if you want to poke the bear, by all means, poke the bear."

"Your father can't hurt me."

"He can. Temporarily."

"I'll heal."

Stiles was getting worked up again. The comforting rub down reappeared. His breaths calmed. The attack wavered. He rested his forehead on a muscular chest. His eyes shut tiredly. His voice coming out as a whisper. "I could get used to that."

The next thing he knew he was lying down on his bed with the werewolf beside him. There wasn't much room to work with when they were sharing the space. Still, Derek's hand was rubbing along his spine. After a sigh of contentment, Stiles resumed his earlier humming.

He fell asleep unsure if he felt lips on his temple.


	3. Chapter 3

_Derek using his words, you guys! I wanted to update this week. Bless Google Drive, because my netbook charger crapped out on me. Also, burritoed is a word now._

_This is a reminder that this takes place after Visionary._

* * *

He had a dreamless full nights rest. It wasn't the best sleep he ever had. He remembered waking up to the light touches of his duvet covering him. He was rolled in it like a burrito. He snuggled against the body beside him without a second thought. Sleep taking him once more.

He woke up thankful that the nightmares weren't there. Peter wasn't trying to convert him to his wicked ways. Scott wasn't abandoning him. Alphas weren't everywhere he looked. Emissaries and the Darach didn't exist. Lydia wasn't toying with him. Derek wasn't lurking in the shadows with his blue beta eyes and brooding face.

He sighed and stretched, smacking Derek in the process. It was a slow process of realizing they were sharing his bed. The older man was under his sheet while he was burritoed in his comforter. He peeked at Stiles with an unamused eye.

"Sorry."

He grumbled and got a tad more comfortable. Derek Hale was wallowing in his bed. The big bad wolf acted like a little piggy.

A little piggy who hijacked his only pillow!

Stiled had a mischievous grin across his face. He grabbed the pillow and yanked it out from under him, laughing maniacally and tossing the object behind him. Forever challenging the alpha.

Derek clutched Stiles' arm and pulled him down. His arms wrapped around him with a playful force. He held him there just like last night. It was _**playful**_, yet somehow _**different**_.

The younger boy didn't fight him. He was comfortable and warm. He wasn't afraid of the proximity. He only observed. "You stayed."

"I needed a place to crash."

"You chose my place. Why?"

It was silent. Too silent. The silence made him itchy.

"Derek. Why?"

"You know why."

Ah. The thing they didn't speak of. The intimate talks where they understood each other. The lending of a listening ear. A lot of the time it was Derek talking and Stiles listening. The first time it happened surprised the hell out of Stiles. _"Derek Hale using his words."_ They didn't talk again for a couple weeks. Stiles was having a day where he really missed his mom. He didn't go to school. No one checked on him, then again it only would have been Scott (he was off being dysfunctional with the Argents). The later the day got the more he realized no one was coming.

Derek was worried. Not that he admitted it, but he actually cared enough that he was okay. But he wasn't okay. Not really. He missed his mom. He had this ache in his chest. A lonely void that could never be filled. Most days he didn't notice it. He was used to the feeling. Though, that morning it hurt to get out of bed. The light burnt his eyes. His muscles were sore. He stayed curled up in a ball under his blankets. Tears fell on their own accord. He didn't even notice them.

Then just like last night, he heard his window open and knew someone was in his room. He didn't care enough to look. He assumed it was Scott or an evil creature. Turned out it was a Derek. He never understood how he climbed through his window. Wolfy parkour?

That horrible day started their confessions, their therapy. The frequent talks. It wasn't a moment of pent up feelings bursting from the seams anymore. It was something they both needed. The human needed the wolf to get through the supernatural days. The wolf needed the human to get through the normal days.

It was weird how they could connect on such an emotional level. Deep, in depth talk that were heavily laced with anguish and sorrow. They had their good moments. Derek was coming around on his jokes. He could make his own when he actually tried; they were all at Stiles' expense.

So, it was weird, but it was also nice.

"Thanks for covering me up. You could have waked me and I could have gotten you a blanket or we could have... shared?" His shaky breath fanned across a thinly covered chest. The air in the room weighed a ton. The clock slowed down to drown them in an awkward silence. "I mean... It's not... Uh..."

Derek released his hold on him. Apparently it was too awkward for touching. Stiles took the opportunity to evacuate the blanket burrito. Clumsily, finding his balance on his feet. His shoes were not on anymore. They were neatly placed at the foot of his bed. He didn't question it. He didn't have to. He knew what happened. He couldn't even look at him right now.

Last night marked a change between them. Something shifted. He was stupid to only realize it now. Perhaps it wasn't even last night when the change occurred. The point was that those words left his mouth. He acknowledged the transformation. He noted the closeness and acknowledged there could be more.

He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "You know, it's probably best if you perform one of disappearing acts right about now."

He heard him shuffle. He didn't open his eyes to watch him leave.

Then again he didn't leave.

A hand cupped his face, moving his head forward. Derek whispered his name. He could feel his essence in front of him, his warmth. His large body casting a shadow over him.

"Stiles, look at me."

He gulped and shook his head. It was strange, because Derek's freaking hand was on his face! _**Gently! **_Now was the perfect time for a crisis.

His voice was quiet, but equipped with a growl. "Stiles!"

He blinked at him.

"You have nothing to be sad or confused about."

Stiled licked his lips and stared defiantly at Derek. "Can I be angry?"

Derek cracked a smile. "Why?"

He stepped back and threw his hands up. Staring at the wolf like he was a lunatic. "I don't now. This whole thing is crazy! Why didn't you just leave? Why stay now? 'cause if you haven't noticed I'm going out of my fucking mind!"

Of course he wasn't going to get answers.

"If you're not going to leave then I will." He turned away from him, grabbed his shoes, and walked out of his room.

It was when he was in his Jeep, staring up at his bedroom window, that he saw the man's expression. _Imagine that_, it was blank and void of any clues of how he really felt. Still, there he was watching him leave. Stiles shook his head, secured his shoes to his feet, and drove off without another look.


	4. Chapter 4

_I wrote this chapter in chunks. I had to piece them together and fill the gaps. It also shows that I write like I'm directing a movie. Not always a good thing, so bear with me._

_This is your reminder that this story takes place after Visionary._

* * *

So what if he was scared? So what if he was confused? He had every right to feel something for himself, to put himself first. He was always on the back burner. Everyone put him there. He put _**himself**_ there. It was time to take control. Do what he wants and needs. At this moment, he needed to get away. It wasn't forever. Unless that was as long as it took to process the fucked up turn of events.

It was weird. He wasn't freaked out about sleeping next to Derek. He got over that about a month ago. It was the day after the full moon. They ended up having a really heavy talk that afternoon. He had fallen asleep on his shoulder in the loft. That couch was incredibly comfortable. He completely understood why Peter was so taken with it. Derek let Stiles sleep there. Mostly because Derek fell asleep himself. It was very Joey and Ross. It seemed plausible they were just exhausted - not _**comfortable**_ with each other.

Stiles was wrong.

He ended up at an unlikely spot. He was running away, but he sort of ran towards it, in a manner of speaking.

The Jeep was pulled to a stop in front of the old Hale house. Derek mentioned that he didn't go there anymore. He won't buy it back either. It was his form of moving on. It was courageous of him to start a new chapter in his life and let that one go.

Stiles thought it was the best place he could escape to (as morbid as it was). Derek wouldn't look for him in a place he didn't go. Nonetheless, a place that creeped out the boy. Stiles would have smirked at the devious idea if he wasn't remarkably unhinged.

If Derek even looked for him.

He took a seat on the blasted-to-all-hell couch. It took a moment to get settled. It was weird to sit there, but it was really the only thing that looked untouched by flames. A chill ran down his spine from the recollection of death and agony. He didn't want those images in his mind so he conjured new ones.

He studied his surroundings, trying to picture the room before the charred mess. The remains of furniture were really nice. The wallpaper by the door matched the green couch he was sitting on. Earthtones as far as the eye could see.

He reclined back. His head rested on the arm of the couch. One leg along the seat, the other limp over the side. He stared at the remains of the ceiling, the rickety stairs. He was growing increasingly more comfortable, except that something was digging into his lower back. He grabbed it with two finger. A bullet casing. It smelled like nothing, ruling out a wolfsbane bullet. He sighed with relief and chucked the casing across the room. He continued exploring the house from his new position. Painting, polishing, furnishing, and decorating.

His eyes closed. His vision of the house danced on the screen that was his eyelids. He felt his first sense of calm in a long time. Of all places he found it here.

He pictured a young Derek being teased by Laura. He pictured him being a protective big brother to Cora, lacking their hardened features. He had amusing thoughts of him foregoing action figures and being bullied into playing Barbies. The grumpy face would take over with a special appearance by a pouty bottom lip.

He fell asleep thinking about that face.

* * *

"Stiles!" The man with the name groaned and curled up. A couple kicks were made to the couch and he turned around to glare at his friend.

"Go away. I'm sleeping."

Scott kicked the couch again. "Stiles! Dude, come on!"

Stiles made his detest clear with another exaggerated groan. He sat up and held his head in his hands. He had a migraine and his head was spinning from his stupid alpha-ridden dream.

The beta was a confused puppy. "Why are you here?"

"I sort of just ended up here." Scott raised a curious, suspicious eyebrow. Stiles realized what he said and clarified, "not in a Lydia sense. I'm just trying to work everything out, you know?"

Scott gave a nod.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me? Did Derek send you?"

"Derek?"

Stiles shook his head and stuck out a hand.

Scott pulled him to his feet and guided him out of the house. Stiles let him. He was too tired to fight. He didn't want to pull the 'not made of porcelain' card, because at that moment that's what he felt like.

When they were driving down the main road, away from the house, Scott brought Derek up. If he witnessed the way Stiles' hands clenched around the steering wheel, he didn't mention it. Then again, it was Scott.

"Why do you smell like Derek?"

"I was at his old house," Stiles offered. It was plausible enough.

"I can smell the house laced with Derek's specific scent. Why do you smell like him, Stiles? It's really strong."

He took a page out of Derek's book. He fixed Scott with an unreadable look and focused back on the road. He didn't answer him. He didn't want to. What was he going to say? Blatantly lie to him? Their talks were private. _**Confidential**_. Everything about their time together was personal.

Scott didn't press it. He let it go like it was nothing. Stiles was relieved. He deflected the conversation back to Scott. "Why were you in the woods?"

"Me and Isaac were patrolling the area. Really just going for a run for something to do. Trying not to feel so helpless."

_I know the feeling. _"Ah." Glad to know he wasn't invited. _**Not.**_ Sometimes it sucked not being a werewolf. He let it roll off his shoulders.

"Want to go to your house and play GTA?"

His place. Where Derek was. His scent was probably lingering in there if it was still stuck on Stiles. Did Derek leave like he asked?

"Let's go to your place. I don't feel like being home."

* * *

Stiles threw himself on the couch. Reclined back like he was at Derek's old house, like he owned the place. Scott threw a controller at him. It landed hard on his stomach, knocked the breath out of him. He snarled at him, doing his best Billy Idol impersonation.

Scott nudged himself down at the end of the couch. His thighs over Stiles' lower legs.

"Seriously, dude!" Scott leaned away from him. His brows drawn together. "You reek of Derek."

"So?"

"Why?"

Stiles told the truth, nothing but the truth. However, it wasn't the full truth. He went with a simplified version of events that turned out not so simple. Story of his life.

"I got hurt. A few cuts and he healed me. It was cool. You know, whatever." He shrugged like it was no big deal. Just the werewolf who hurts him, a human, on a weekly basis; it was completely normal. He fidgeted with the controller in his hand, wishing to start the game.

"Are you sure you had cuts?" Scott sounded like he was accusing him of something. Stiles frowned and withdrew his legs from under his friend. He stood and stared him down.

"I'm not fucking crazy, Scott! I know what I saw. I know what he did. Why is it so hard to believe that Derek healed measly ol' human Stiles?"

Scott shot to his feet and put his hands on Stiles' shoulders. He looked him in the eye, carefully approaching the situation with caution. "Stiles, werewolves can't heal anyone. We only take away the pain."

"But Derek…"

Scott took a step back. He shook his head, holding his hands up in defense. "I don't know. I really don't know." His brows stitched together. An idea was forming. "Were the cuts like scratches? Maybe he can heal them as an alpha. If they're not bad?"

"Dude." Stiles licked his lips. "They were from his claws. They were like Jackson's. Kind of. They weren't as deep. And he snagged Jackson when he was a creepy, lurker beta."

"He **hurt** you!?"

"This time was an accident."

"This time!? Do you even listen to yourself?"

Stiles squinted at Scott. Really? This was coming from him? It's not like he was a victim of spousal abuse or whatever.

"Yes, I listen to myself." He paused. "Most of the time." He took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his worried expression. "Derek and I… Our relationship has changed."

"Relationship?"

Stiles could feel his heart skip a beat and his cheeks warm. Scott must have jotted it down as getting worked up over their disagreement. He gulped and continued, "we have a common ground with a means to bond."

It was awhile before the teen wolf comprehended the explanation. He didn't comment any further. The realization was made and he gave a small nod. The room settled with the conversation. They relaxed back on the couch.

Scott had finally started the game when Stiles glanced over at him. "Are you sure you guys can't heal others?"

"If I could, I would."

Their pixeled competitive streak was the worst they ever played. It was saying something, for Scott crushed a controller during a full moon. This time the teens were distracted by their thoughts and not the lunar pull. Scott shut down the console and tilted his head towards him. His eyes were squinted.

Stiles threw his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry I smell like Alpha No. 5!"

"It's not that. Actually, it is. Do you think Deaton would know -"

Stiles butted in with an added toss of his eyes. "Of course he does, but about what?"

"Why Derek could heal you," Scott answered.

He did. When they went to see the vet he didn't seem all that surprised. Then again, when was he? He listened to the minor details Stiles earlier offered the wolf. His eyes twinkled with interest. He nodded along when it was appropriate. He didn't interrupt. He waited until the story was done to give his input.

Deaton explained, "it's the combined properties of your supernatural abilities. Derek, an alpha, has the ability to take away pain and Stiles has the spark of an emissary." Deaton looked thoughtful. "It's a remarkable occurrence."

"How so," Scott wondered.

"Well," Deaton paused, his gaze fell on Stiles. "It means the bond is strong."

Stiles wanted to kick himself and Scott for asking so many questions, but he had to ask. "What bond?"

Deaton did that creepy smile - the one where he knew shit like the Yoda of Beacon Hills that he was. "It could be the bond between an emissary and an alpha. Or it could be something bigger than that. It could be the bond between an alpha and their mate." The smile turned into a grin. "I'm sure you know which one it is, Mr Stilinski."

He had Scott drive him home. He inconvenienced him, because the dude had to work. He felt guilty, but his mind was flooded with information and his body was vibrating with so many different feelings. He was having trouble sorting them. He couldn't handle battling them while driving - as much as he hated the thought of someone driving his baby. It was bad enough it was used as a werewolf transport vehicle. Bloody, angry, unstable werewolves.

Scott told him not to worry. _Too late. _He'll run to work if he had to, but Deaton knew Stiles was troubled. He was bombarded. It didn't take someone with the ability to sniff emotions out to notice. Besides, Scott owed him.

He sat in his computer chair and let the thoughts, knowledge, and feelings categorize.

He was embarrassed about his feelings. Everything with Derek was intense. **So intense. **It was overwhelming. He felt like he was speeding, racing in a car that was about to crash and burn. When Deaton explained the bond that they have, that Stiles knew they had to some degree, it started to make sense.

It was clear in how they settled into a routine and stopped abusing one another. How their talks flowed even when they weren't saying something. Because when they weren't saying something, there was something else being said.

It was chaotic, because they weren't giving into it. They'd push and pull. They'd bend and stretch. They never gave in.

He could cave now. He could let the connection unwind. He didn't have to be embarrassed anymore. He was meant to feel the way he felt.

He wants to say he was surprised by Derek showing up minutes later. He wasn't. What he was surprised about was him announcing his arrival with the start of a conversation.

"It's not just that I think I'm going to hurt you, Stiles. I want you to be safe. I push you away for your own good. If I don't hurt you, someone will."

Stiles' heart sprinted, but he stood and met Derek head on, physically and mentally. "I can be careful. I don't have to get in the middle of things. I don't want to anymore."

"You're not."

"I'm not?" He furrowed his brow. He's not what?

"If you're careful, not in the middle of all of this - it won't matter. Someone will come after you."

"Are you trying to make it harder for me to sleep at night?" They've talked about his fitful sleep. He's hardly been sleeping since Erica died. Now Boyd was dead and he's living off coffee like Freddy's right around the corner.

Derek practically growled at him. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

"I hear you just fine, Derek! That's what I'm concerned about! You just said someone will come after me. That I'm not safe!"

He sighed. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean. Come on, Derek." He whistled and pat his legs. "Use your words."

Derek didn't even blink. Not even an eyeroll. Because this was what happened with them. They get too agitated. The sarcasm and jokes fly out the window. It was time to be serious. Fuck lighthearted. This was Werewolfland.

"Someone is going to come after you because of the pack. Eventually. It's expected. Hunters or creatures."

Stiles knew what he was getting into last year. "Because I hang around you guys. Because Scott's my best friend." _Because of what Deaton told me._

"No."

"Words, Derek. Words."

Derek drew closer. His eyes traced over Stiles' lanky frame before resting on his rich, cinnamon eyes. His tone turned gentle. "They'll come after you because of me. I don't only care about your safety. I care about you."

Stiles searched his face for clues to help him understand. Was this a thing they were talking about now? He took in those unique eyes below bushy eyebrows. The well groomed scruff. The way his ears rounded. The point of his nose. He lingered on his lips. They were parted. He liked them that way. It was better than the firm, thin line they were usually set in. He liked the shape and shade of pink. They appeared to be soft.

"Stiles."

They even looked amazing forming his name.

Wait! What?

Stiles slowly trailed his gaze up to catch greenish orbs. His chest heaved in its fight to out best his desire. What was the use? The wolf was born to sniff out every sense around him. Stiles' feelings weren't private. The least he could do was explain. Especially after this morning. It came out as a whisper. "Derek -"

Those transcendent lips were on his. Those meaty paws on his cheeks. He was trying to keep him in place. He didn't want him to run like he did this morning. Why was he trying to run from this? Because that's what he was doing, right? He was booking it away from the full surrender of his tension. Their tension.

They had their issues for a reason. The touch of meshing lips in a hard kiss was the solution. He was letting the chemistry unfold. The taut bond unraveled.

When it clicked to respond to the contact, he manipulated it; turned it soft. In a moment of bravery, he tasted the shade of pink touching his mouth. Those parted lips opened up for him, allowing him to sample what's inside.

Their tongues collided in a jolt of electricity. Stiles used a tight grip of the leather jacket as a ground, he ground himself to Derek. It was the way it was supposed to be.

Derek had a hold of his hips and used it to push him away. He pressed their foreheads together. His eyes were closed. His lips red, but parted. Stiles ran a thumb along the bottom's plumpness. He had to touch to know it was real.

Derek mumbled out a joke. _**A joke!**_ "You didn't have to leave this morning." Okay, so it was more like an observation, but there was humor in his voice! Derek was amused. It was progress.

"Yeah, either did you." Stiles leaned forward to give him a peck. "No more slamming me against walls?"

The werewolf's face scrunched up cutely. "I wouldn't say never."

Stiles shuddered and Derek gave a small smile. The smile died down as something flashed before his eyes.

"I need to tell you something."

"Wow! I'm impressed. Okay. Go for it." Stiles couldn't help but touch his chest. He craved the closeness he had pushed away. It was real. It was real. It was real! What Derek was about to say had him drop his hand and back up. He wanted to run again.

"I slept with Jennifer Blake."


	5. Chapter 5

_I really hope this one isn't boring. It was really hard to write and make it fit in this, sort of, alternate universe. One particular moment is strange, because I really needed the moment where Scott and Stiles were in the Jeep. It kind of fits, but it's debatable. This one is mostly a filler. My editing is probably a suckfest, because I've been working on this too long and revising too much for me to notice everything. My apologies._

_Remember how this one takes place after Visionary? Well, welcome to the Girl Who Knew Too Much! Tons of __**spoilers**__ if you haven't seen it. It's basically a Sterek summary of the episode._

* * *

Stiles was hit with a whirlwind of shit. He had to ask when Derek slept his teacher. He had to open his mouth and get answers. He mentally begged for a brain to mouth filter. He didn't need this. He didn't want to feel like this.

Because he slept with her after the battle at the abandon mall. Yeah! They all thought he was dead! Boyd and Isaac nearly lost it the next day. They lusted after revenge against the twins, planning to slaughter them on the bus going to their cross country meet.

Scott almost died that day! He couldn't live with himself! He couldn't handle the thought of his alpha being dead. He was diluted. And while Scott was in agony, trying to heal, Derek was off -

Then that freaky motel they stayed at where all his friends tried to kill themselves, save for Isaac. He was running around trying to save everyone. He almost witnessed the suicide of his best friend!

And Derek was fine and dandy back at home. Not a call or a text. He didn't want to check in with anyone. He didn't want to share his concerns and worries with Stiles.

No! He was too busy fucking Stiles' English teacher! The woman who Derek didn't threaten when she openly witnessed that werewolves were real.

Oh! And there was another thing!

"She was there the night Boyd died, Derek! She did nothing. After all the shit she saw!? I was the one to comfort you!" He paused and wet his lips. "As misplaced as that was."

"Misplaced? We've saved each other time after time. We-"

"That's not what I meant!" He snapped at the werewolf, because he didn't know what was good for him. _**Clearly.**_ His fingers pulled frustrations from his hair.

It was misplaced, because he realized now that he cared more for Derek than the alpha did for him. Maybe they weren't mates. Maybe they didn't even have that special bond of an alpha and an emissary. Because when was the last time Stiles fucked around with magic? Back in the good ol' Kanima days. So, maybe Deaton wasn't all-knowing. Deaton was insane.

_Since when was dealing with Kanima Jackson Whittemore the good days? _

"It wasn't about feelings," Derek offered quietly.

Stiles feels his insides react. Heart, stomach, and brain as if there actually was something special between him and Derek. Like it would take away the shitty feeling of the moment. Deaton could be right. There was hope. There was always hope.

Then, Derek had to continue. "It was about comfort."

A snap of fingers and he was crushed.

Stiles turned away. He felt like he was going to throw up, because in true Derek/Stiles fashion, it was too much to handle at one time. He debated leaving, running away from his problems again. He shook his head visibly disagreeing with himself. He wanted to confront Derek. He wanted to tell him he wanted to be his mate. He wanted to be bound to him. The man needed to know how much their talks meant to him. How he loved that they could open up to one another. He wanted Derek to know, verbally, how torn up he was. Because yes, they push and pull, they bend and stretch, but Stiles was broken. He was so unbelievable broken. Not to mention desperate.

When he turned back around Derek was gone.

He wished he was the one who left this morning. If Derek had gone when he wished him away they wouldn't be here. Correction: Stiles would be here. Alone. Lonely.

He sat on his bed with his phone in his shaking hands. He debated calling Scott. He didn't want to disturb him at work. It was a whole pot of crazy the werewolf wasn't ready to handle. He himself couldn't deal with it, but he sucked it up. What was he supposed to do? There wasn't anything to make him go after him. There was nothing to make him stay. He obviously fell low on whatever list Derek had brewing in his mind. He was a human playing a werewolf game.

But that kiss.

His lips were still tingling (or quivering from trying not to cry). They were warm from the touch. The last time someone kissed him had been used as a virginal sacrifice. He sighed. It came out shaky and he hated himself for it.

They were building to something. Okay. There was no use denying that. They were working out some sort of relationship. Be it friendship or something more. It was something obvious between them. From tender touches and caring shoulders to cry on, there was something there. Derek knew that. Derek could feel that. He could feel it from Stiles, notice it from the jolt of his heartbeat.

He growled, bitterly thinking Peter would be impressed by the sound. He dropped his head to his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. He sniffed and shut them tighter. "I hate werewolves."

All he wanted was to fall asleep. If he could sleep the rest of the day all would be good. Night had only fallen. Who could blame him? He was only human. He needed his rest. That message evidently didn't ring in Scott's ears like his ringtone for Scott reached his.

He grumbled uncomprehensively into the phone's receiver.

"Dude! Lydia just called! It happened again." Stiles jolted into an upright position, wincing at the pain throbbing in his temple. Scott continued, "she's at the school. Pick me up from work. We need to go there now. Allison's on her way." The call ended.

He didn't want to deal with this. Not now. He sighed. He could use the distraction. It's not like Derek would be out there dealing with the crapfest that was Beacon Hills. He was too busy juggling his ominous uncle and mysterious sister. Oh, and sleeping with Stiles' English teacher.

The running theme this week was to make him miserable in all ways possible. He'd been feeling hopeless before Scott was bitten. He'd done his best to cope with what went on since. He held his ground. He kept his cool (for the most part). His day was terrible, and while that was no excuse, he had to vent somehow.

They were driving to Scott's so he could get his bike. What happened to them getting to the school immediately?Well, the werewolf had to get his daily toll of progressively making a fool out of himself in his attempt to impress Allison. The dude was hella whipped and they weren't even dating anymore.

That a-ok detour had him twitching. Stiles was going the speed limit. Half of him kind of hoped the police would be at Beacon Hills High with the body wrapped up. The other half of him wanted to get there before them. Morbid curiosity, a damsel in distress, and Scott temporarily riding shotgun had him wanting to be there sans deputies.

Between the detour to his house and the way he was acting, Stiles was just done. He was so far done with Scott! It was like he was picking at the flaking paint of Stiles' fixer-upper house. He saw him do that once. At Derek's.

Stiles loosened his white knuckled grip on his steering wheel and cast his eyes over to his best friend.

Scott had the window cracked. The passenger side door supported his weight. He wasn't subtle about nudging his nose up in the breeze. Stiles would have made a joke any other time, but he was annoyed. The kind of annoyance that went hand in hand with a serious case of irritation. He scowled at the beta and felt a wave of nausea at who it reminded him of.

"Oh my god! What!?"

"You still smell like Derek. Only the smell is stronger now."

His sharp, angry intake of breath was enough to let Scott know they weren't going to talk about it. Like. Ever.

When he screeched to a stop in front of the McCall house, he shifted to park and kept the engine running. He desperately wanted to haul balls to the school, but they were better in numbers. Wasn't that the deal? Wasn't that what stupid packs of werewolves went by, namely that of an alpha he wanted to punch. Again. He glared out the windshield as he waited for Scott. Three humans lacking a werewolf wouldn't bode well. Even if one of them was a hunter and the other was...Well, Lydia was something.

His aggravated demeanor was simmering when they got to the school. Until he got into it with Lydia. It wasn't that big of a deal. A tiny spat that hurt no ones feelings. Arguing helped relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. Even though he made her sound incompetent with her gift. She was never incompetent. She called them prior to finding the body. She didn't want to find it. It weirded her out. She was only scared. It was okay for her to be frightened. What wasn't wasn't okay was him being an ass to her.

Scott found the body.

Yeah, a deputy got there first, for the body was that of Deputy Tara Graeme. She used to help Stiles with his homework on nights he waited for his his dad to finish up at the station. She used to teach middle school. He never had her as a teacher, but she helped him understand a lot of things he wasn't grasping in school. She didn't treat him as a difficult student and it wasn't just because his dad was her boss. She actually cared. Stiles was learning awfully quick that people who actually cared were hard to come by.

No one minded that he took to the nearest garbage and hurled. Lydia even rubbed his back as he heaved and fought back the urge to cry.

"Let it all out, sweetheart." She was talking about the tears. He didn't know why he knew that. He didn't know why she was the one to comfort him and not Scott or even Allison. He realized that she was one of those few people that cared. She only had different methods to show it.

But they all cared. That's why they were there, wasn't it?

Let it all out. He was afraid to. When he kept it in, he kept control, because there was too much. Too much to spill for just one night, for just one person. The three people surrounding him were the last people he wanted to witness and be apart of his undoing.

Allison made an anonymous tip to the police and they went their separate ways. He wished Scott didn't have his bike. He wished Scott could ride with him and be disturbed by the way he smelled. He probably smelled a little more like Lydia now than… Yeah. He didn't know how he felt about any of that. He could use his friends support. He wanted bro time that lasted longer than a half-assed level of a video game. He thought about following Scott instead of going home. Albeit, where Scott was going Stiles didn't want to go.

The waxing moon mocked him the entire drive home.

* * *

The next day was miserable.

He knew he'd wake up and feel like crap. His eyes were crusty. His body ached. He firmly believed he didn't move a muscle in the night. He was wiped.

He shouldn't have let his guard down when his dad told him about Tara. He shouldn't have let those tears fall, the ones he fought off at the school. His dad said he didn't have to go to school the next day, but he couldn't. He wouldn't.

But when he got there, he wished he stayed at home in bed all day. Because fuck his life he had English class. He had to see that bitch of a woman.

Calling her a bitch was stupid. It's not like she knew that Stiles was whatever he was with/to Derek. She was a good teacher. He had to admit. She had a way of explaining lessons that made the whole class pay attention. She wasn't too hard on the eyes either. Ugh!

His dad was at the school when he got there. He couldn't handle seeing his dad powerless even with his sheriff status. The town was so berserk that his desk was piled high with cases; the department lacked the staff to get it done. They were all getting murdered and it was all out of his hands. What could he do when there were freaking werewolves and druids? They had more ways to stay safe than his dad did with his gun and the entire armed department flanking him. Tara was exhibit A. He had no clue. They tried reassuring each other to no avail.

He was torn up all day. He was seconds away from crying or lashing out. He wanted to run and tell his dad everything. He wanted to rip the twins apart himself. He wanted to hide in his bed and block out everything that happened after Scott was bitten.

Would his life be easier then? Would it be just him and Scott? No Allison the Girlfriend, Allison the Hunter. Getting ignored by Lydia and any other girl they hit on. Or maybe he'd be with Heather? She would still be alive, because there wasn't an abundance of supernatural out to get Beacon County. Would they still be benchwarmers getting the death glare from their captain with glorious cheekbones and a secret heart of gold?

He would still get into trouble. He would still be lying to his dad. The life or death situations wouldn't be happening - he liked to think. He wouldn't have caused a lot of problems. He wouldn't look suspicious at crime scenes, but interested as he used to be. It would be easier, simpler times. That was way in the past now. So far out there that it seemed decades old.

By the time English rolled around he had already been insulted by a couple other teachers. They yelled at him to pay attention. Coach told him he was doomed to clean the locker room with the janitor. He wasn't as responsive to the punishment as he was on a regular day. Coach let it slide, but clearly eyed him like he was an enigma.

Ms. Blake was insulting another way. Stiles was fed up with being in her class. How could she go on like Boyd wasn't dead? She witnessed his horrible death with her own eyes! Werewolves were real! The freaking twins took her and yet she was fine? Call in for a few days at least. Then he wouldn't have to see her.

Hearing her talk made him wonder about what she could have whispered to Derek when they were fucking and how he responded to the caress of her breath against his ear.

He broke a pencil.

She walked around the room talking about idioms, analogies, metaphors and similes. He wanted to high five Lydia when she smarted off to her, which Lydia was always doing considering her amazing brain. Ms. Blake said something about _'seeing the whole board'_.

"Chess," he muttered, because he couldn't help himself and he had to have her attention. Did she even get what she did? What they did?

Did Stiles get it? No, not really, but he feels like he does. Even if he can't sort it out it's enough - probable cause. Plus he was kind of a masochist.

"That's right, Stiles. Do you play?"

_As if you care._ "No. My father does." He clenched his jaw to stop the snark from escaping, and it _**really**_ wanted to.

There was something about the way her eyes lit up and she smiled at him. It was almost secretive and it pissed him off further. He didn't know that was possible. He was already thoroughly raged. The snark was coming. He already had his mouth open to unleash his hell.

The bell rang. Despite the sound snapping his mouth shut, he was thrilled to exit her class.

Until he had to deal with the twins and the hothead that was Derek's baby sister. She scared Stiles, and while she was a mystery the twins freaked him out more. She was pissed off more than usual. More than that, she was upset. Stiles on a better day would sympathize. Aiden banged her up. What little he caught of the highly aggressive fight was added to his list of horrifying memories.

Cora wasn't healing fast, if at all. She had a gnarly streak of blood gushing down her head. She could play the tough card all she wanted, but he saw her tense as she cleaned it. The tears she wouldn't shed. They were taught to hide and heal, he reminded himself.

He had the brilliant idea to give her a ride to Derek's. It's not like he had to go in, but if he wanted to make sure she was safe he would. He can hear her taunting him from a couple days ago.

'_Why do you care?'_

He tried not to think about that night, sidestepped it to ask, "is Derek going to be home?"

"It's his place."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but is he going to be there?"

Cora was about to argue. He could see her expression contort to that of a Hale trademark. Their defensive features all have this weird arch to their eyebrows and this unusual hardness in their eyes. Peter's had hints of arrogance. Cora's had this deep running hatred for all things, especially humans. Tough cookie and all that. Their personalities shined through, he supposed. Derek's though… Well, Cora was about to argue when Allison called.

It wasn't the first time he was thankful for Allison and it won't be the last. She told him the news about what her dad had hidden away. Mr. Argent figured out part of the pattern. Virgins, Philosophers, Guardians, Warriors, and Healers. Tara's death had them convinced Guardians meant law enforcement.

Fear clutched at his chest as comprehension hit. Cora had to help him. She had to help him tell his dad.

None of that went well, of course. His dad couldn't grasp the supernatural being… natural. Ironically, bitterly, Stiles used chess as a metaphor trying to explain. How do you describe Jackson? His dad was angry. He couldn't take a mere second for his son to demonstrate the going ons of Beacon Hills. Cora attempted to help him by transforming, but Triple A(Alpha, Aiden, Asshole) hurt her beyond beta healing powers. She fell hard to the ground. She lied unconscious on Stiles' bedroom floor. Blood splattered on his light carpet and his dad panicked the way a good sheriff would.

He just couldn't let go of the logical side, the detective side, even with the clues literally right in front of him.

Stiles realized he was angry with everyone today. He said one mean thing to everyone he came across and it only got worse when they were at the hospital. His dad wouldn't believe him, okay? He was tired of it. He was tired of everything. He wouldn't give it or himself a rest though. No one got that. But why? Why did he have to use his mom as a slap in the face? It probably hurt him more than it did his dad.

He left. He couldn't face his dad after that. Not yet. He tried his best to get him to understand the danger. That counted for something. It had to. Cora was a werewolf. She didn't need Stiles to look after her anyway. She wouldn't want him to. Not to mention a likely visitor was doomed to roam the hospital halls soon. Stiles liked his previous reasons better, but prefered that of Scott's call. Another teacher was sacrificed. It was time to regroup.

A teacher's sacrifice shouldn't comfort him during his drive to the school, but it did. It wasn't so much the ritual as it was knowing Derek wouldn't be occupying the same space as him. They could handle investigating the school with the possibility of helping whoever was next. A willing and ready Lydia was already there, her gift at the ready.

He found Scott inside the auditorium. He was near the doors, saving him the time he'd spend trying to find him. That was cool, but their plan involved Lydia. Last Scott knew she was at his side. How was she supposed to open up to her gift if she wasn't around? Where was she?

Missing. She was missing. She wasn't answering calls. She wasn't answering texts. She didn't yell back at them from the nearby vicinity. Something was clearly wrong!

They searched outside. Scott used his wolf eyes to scan the area. Her car was there. After what happened with the deer, they didn't think she'd want to leave her car and catch a ride home with someone; her likely choices of hitching a ride were watching the performance.

He was nervously pacing back and forth, checking his phone for messages that weren't there. Scott - one look at him and Stiles knew he was unsettled. He needed something, anything to get him proactive. He needed to be involved and fighting. Then, it all went to hell. Well, more of a hell than Stiles was currently suffering.

Lydia screamed so loud it hurt Scott's sensitive wolf hearing. Stiles didn't hear it, but he's been around the werewolves a lot to know that it hurt. He winced the same way he had when the school bells caught him off guard. The fire alarm drills wreck him.

Stiles did his best tailing him. The teen wolf rounded corners so fast and gracefully while he pulled a Breakfast Club in an attempt to catch him. Where the hell was Lydia!?

The English room. Of fucking course.

The Darach was Ms. Blake. Of fucking course.

She took Derek. Now she took his dad. Of fucking course.

Did she kiss people to purposely piss Stiles off?

Stiles will say it. He'll go ahead and say it. "Ms. Blake is a bitch." Though it was only a mumble in a state of disbelief and an onslaught of a myriad of thoughts, Scott had heard him and nodded.

Lydia stared at them in shock. Tears were running down her cosmetic stained face. Her mascara bled down her blotched cheeks. She sat as frozen as he stood. She was going to be a victim like his father.

As much as he loves avoiding a problem until it goes away, his dad's life was at stake now. There was no doubt about it. It was time to see Derek.


End file.
